


Signed in Love

by Jberry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Deaf Sherlock, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Roulette, Jumps in Time, M/M, Out of Character, Sherlock AU, Trash John, cause that's how I roll, different first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jberry/pseuds/Jberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three Continents Watson meets Deaf Sign Language Interpreter Sherlock Holmes at a medical conference. They clash, mostly due to John being trash.<br/>
</p><p>Years later, fate throws them together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sign for Annoyed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distantstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/gifts), [Mssmithlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssmithlove/gifts), [lookupkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/gifts).



> Dedicated to some of the authors I read again and again.
> 
> I went by another name but I had to change it and put my Fics on lockdown. Look through my other Fics and you can probably figure me out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ sign for annoyed in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/annoyed)   
> 

Medical conferences were a mix of pure boredom and bottom shelf alcohol. It was a chance to meet colleagues and have mini reunions with old classmates while boosting the resume. It was also a way to become spectacularly hungover after shagging a knockout blond doctor from Wales who sucked you off until you screamed for mercy twice. 

John Watson, M.D., swallowed two naproxen with a shot of hotel coffee as he entered the large hall. Even though the lights were dimmed to a pleasant morning glow, he squinted and moved to the back of the room. It was laid out with rectangular tables and chairs that stretched from wall to wall. Nursing his rolling stomach, John sat on the side aisle in case he had to make a hasty retreat. 

Medical professionals filtered in, some looking well rested, others more haggard looking than John. Greg Lestrade, R.N., filtered in wearing sunglasses and sat beside John. 

"I heard you last night. Through two sets of walls."

John had the good sense to blush. He scooted himself to put his back to Greg, causing the other man to giggle. "Just giving it to you, mate," Greg said, "All I did was drink some beer and fall asleep. I don't understand how you can point someone out and just get them to go to bed with you. It's a skill."

John looked at Greg, "I didn't point at her. I promise. She and I struck up a friendly conversation. I was lonely. Invited her back to my place. That was it! Nothing more than that. We shared some drinks. She was willing, we got a little loud, it's been a long time."

Greg looked John up and down. He pursed his lips and said, "By a long time, you mean one and a half days since the conference started?"

John groaned and closed his eyes against the rattle in his skull. "No, it was at least six weeks. I saw a chance and I took it. You have opportunity, you can do the same."

Greg grinned. The room had filled out and the morning session was set to begin in 10 minutes. He gestured to the front, "Well, I've got someone I've been talking to. We had a drink last night and talked for a long time. I got her number. She's a peach. I can't wait for you to meet her."

Greg gestured to the front stage. The only person on the stage was a nurse in her 70s preparing her notes on the first topic of the day, _Medication Addiction Management._ John looked between her and Greg.

"Oh for god's sake, are you still drunk?"  
Greg huffed, using his finger to push John's jaw and turn his head to the left. "No, you idiot, over there."

John saw to the left of the stage were two raises chairs. He hadn't really noticed the people sitting there the previous days, but now he saw a petite woman with brown hair and a talk bloke with slicked back brunett hair. They wore only shades of black and gray. As John watched, he finally realized they were using sign language to sign back and forth to one another and to someone else in the audience. 

John looked back at Greg, "Wait, the sign language interpreter up there?"

Greg looked at John, "Yes. She's extremely cool. There are a couple seats closer to the front. Let's move up there."

Before John could protest, Greg had grabbed his arm and dragged him to the front, easily visible to the interpreters. John was transfixed for a moment, watching them sign back and forth, curious about what they could be communicating. After a few minutes, the tall bloke turned over to look at them, then gestured to the female interpreter. The female interpreter came over, her face red. 

"Hi, Molly!" Greg said, but was cut off by her sharp tone. 

"Please stop staring. It's rude. It's like eavesdropping. You're upsetting Sherlock. I don't need him cranky this early in the morning," She turned on her heel and returned to her chair, both interpreters settling in as the nurse went to the podium to check the mic to begin the session. 

The mic squeal caused John's head to pound. Though he was just told not to stare at them, the tall man, _Sherlock_ was impossible to fully ignore. As the mic squealed when tapped, John noticed everyone winced, but Sherlock was completely still. Sherlock watched the crowd, but didn't react himself. Instead, he turned his chair so he could both see the speaker and the audience at the same time. 

"Hey," John tapped Greg's shoulder, "That girl you're interested in, her friend Sherlock, is he Deaf?"

Greg glanced over at the two interpreters quickly, watching them begin to sign as the speaker started to drone on about opiates and their addictive qualities. He tried to be subtle, but he turned back to John quickly as he felt the man's glare. 

"I'm not sure. When I was chatting up Molly last night he came up and talked to her. Well, by talking, they signed. I just figured it was the fastest way for them to communicate. That, or they wanted to talk about me."

John squirmed, the scratches on his back a pleasant annoyance. He watched the speaker drone on and on, his head pounding. He felt himself nodding off, so he poked Greg again to keep himself awake. There was only so much he could listen to regarding drug interactions, addiction and treatment. He leaned over to Greg. 

"How does one interpret from a hearing person in sign language if you're Deaf?" John's eyes flitted from Sherlock back to Greg, "I mean, I don't get it. If he's Deaf, how does he know what's being said in order to interpret?"

Greg turned and looked at John, raising his eyes to also watch the man's hands flying through signs as Molly sat a moment to rest. Greg shook his head at John, "You are an idiot. What kind of question is that? Who the fuck cares. Pay attention to the seminar."

John was fascinated by the tall brunett. How could he, if he were Deaf himself, interpret what was being said? He ignored Greg, and spoke again. 

"I mean, he looks bloody brilliant. He's got gorgeous hair and eyes. Legs for days. Long fingers."

John trailed off. Greg turned back to front, and without even looking at John, he raised his left hand and flicked John in the ear as hard as he could, snapping the cartilage. John winced, yelping, the pain exacerbated by the surprise and his pounding head. Two women in the row ahead of them turned around and looked, one shushed him. All John could do was mouth the word _sorry_. 

John then took his middle knuckle of his right hand and dug it into the fleshy part of the top of Greg's thigh. Greg didn't flinch, didn't move and didn't even change his breathing pattern. He spoke calmly and evenly, stating, "For a well respected, military war veteran and medical professional that is supposed to give a presentation at this conference you are acting as a _14 year old child._ "

John whispered, "You started it," which caused Greg to bite his lips to hold back a giggle. The speaker ended her portion, indicating a longer break between sessions. John sighed "Thank god," and headed right for the refreshments, grabbing another coffee. He jumped as he felt someone come right up behind him. 

The tall drink of water with the unforgettable name, _Sherlock_ was hovering behind him. He looked thunderous, face and neck flushed and perspiration on his brow. At first, John assumed he was simply in his way to get water before his next strenuous interpreting session. John sidestepped, getting out of Sherlock's path, but the man followed him, leaving only scant inches between the two. The tall man gestured the sign for phone. 

John assumed that something might have happened, so he handed over his hand-me-down phone without question. Sherlock typed furiously, only looking down at his keyboard in quick glances, eyes steel grey and pupils wide. John didn't understand why he looked so furious and agitated. John began to open his mouth and Sherlock made a universal gesture for _be quiet_ \- a sharp opening and closing of his fingers spread and then collapsing down to his thumb, mimicking an open mouth closing. John waited, silent, head cocked to the side. The man hit backspace a few times, then shoved the phone at John to read what he'd typed on his own phone.  
  
  
 

_**Quit gaping at me. You look like a fish gasping for air.**_  
  
  
 

John looked up, "I'm not gaping at you-" Sherlock cut him off again, making the same _be quiet_ gesture, so John kept his head down and read silently.   
  
  
 

_**I know you're military by the way you carry yourself and your military haircut. You have a tan that isn't for vanity's sake or vacation. You jump at loud noises and your eyes always flit to the door, ready to defend yourself and others. You are an incredible slag, sleeping with anyone and everyone. You are squirming under injuries from last night's activities. I may be Deaf, but I am not an idiot. I can read lips and seek clarification from my hearing interpreting partner as needed. I can read most everyone as an open book. That's why I can interpret but still be Deaf. Do your research. I know everything about you by looking at you. I just can't tell if it's Afghanistan or Iraq or if a man or woman was in your bed last night, and who in your family is an alcoholic."**_  
  
  
 

John looked up. The other man was perfectly still, hands clenched, ready to spar. John couldn't help smiling, "That is amazing. Absolutely brilliant. How could you possibly know all that about me? Or my sister? That's fantastic. Genius."

Molly, the other interpreter, came up and touched Sherlock on the shoulder, pointing at her wristwatch. He gave a few gestures that John didn't understand, and then Molly spoke extremely clearly, loud enough for others to hear, "How dare you make fun of him for being Deaf. What is wrong with you?"

John stared, looking between the two of them. He realized his mouth was open and he was gaping again, so he shut his mouth, trying desperately for a proper response. Finally, he said, "He's a genius. I didn't know how he did it."

Molly and Sherlock looked at him, Molly's eyebrow tweaked and Sherlock's face completely unreadable. John stood there, wondering how he had managed to come across as an inconsiderate arsehole to two strangers within the span of one presentation. The three of them didn't say a word. They just stared, and John felt his face heat up, but he held his ground. When the next speaker began to test the microphone, the two interpreters left him standing alone by the coffee. 

John's head was pounding worse than ever after the encounter, so he went to Greg and told him he was begging off so he could work on his own presentation for the next morning. Greg crossed his arms, shook his head and simply said, "You need to get your shit together, Watson. You're behaving as absolute trash." Greg walked away and sat up front, Molly giving him a small wave and smile as he sat down. 

John went back to the hotel, drank some water and laid on the bed, wondering how he had changed from being a decorated war veteran injured in battle to an abrasive man who slept with anyone who approached him at a conference. The old John Watson would have gotten along with Molly or Sherlock, and would've appreciated all the new information for his field. He wouldn't have been so spectacularly bored that he would've felt the need to act like a child. The old John Watson would be appalled at the current version of himself. 

John Watson, M.D. fell asleep for three hours, lulled into a dreamless sleep. When he woke, he decided to change the topic of his speech to something he felt was closer to the truth. Something that the crowd needed to hear. He scratched out and rewrote sections, understanding that he needed to talk about his life after the army as a type of therapy. He had hidden from it too long, and it had taken a toll on his ability to form meaningful relationships with others.

He finished his speech, quickly stripping down to pants and crawling back under the covers around midnight. He set his alarm for early the next morning so he would have plenty of time to get ready. He told himself it was not to impress the bloke he'd just met that day, but a good way to calm his nerves. 

He woke with a start, his alarm blaring and a pounding he thought was in his head. Half asleep, it took him too long to realize that someone was pounding on the door to his hotel room. He threw on a shirt, instinct to cover the scarring that marked most of his chest, and he opened the door a quarter of the way. 

Greg stood there, a love bite just visible below his collar. John raised his eyebrows. Greg growled at him, "Shut it. I've heard your alarm blaring for thirty minutes now. You're ruining my trip. First you yelled about that woman's hot mouth the night before, and now this."

John shrugged, "Yea, yea. I'm sorry...wait. Thirty minutes?" He slammed the door in Greg's face, Greg responded with "You fucking cunt wanker!" through the closed door. John looked at his phone and calculated he had fifteen minutes to get ready before he had to leave to go downstairs. No time to shower or really make sure he looked sharp in a freshly ironed shirt. Just enough time to get dressed in a polo and slacks and put a bit of product in his hair. 

As John got ready as quickly as possible, he heard Greg through the door again, "Hurry up, you bloody idiot, five minutes before we have to get down there for sound testing. I hope you at least wrote a decent presentation that won't bore us to tears."

John left the room, grabbing his speech and room card, glaring at Greg and giving him the universal sign for _Fuck You._ He laughed, and they jogged to the elevator and downstairs to the hall just in time to see the staff bringing up his PowerPoint and placing a glass of water on the podium. Greg clapped John on the shoulder, told him good luck, and then moved to the front row to sit in front of Molly and Sherlock. 

John realized everyone, including Molly, Greg and Sherlock were dressed in suits today. John remembered that a high profile researcher on cancer medication from Mayo clinic had traveled to London just to speak today. John felt underdressed. As he walked past the sign language interpreters, he saw Molly and Sherlock give some signs back and forth to one another. Molly laughed. John thought they might be talking about him. When he caught Sherlock's glare, he knew he was. 

John shook it off and went up to the podium, pulling his notes from his back pocket. He introduced himself, and he heard some giggles to his right. He thought he had to be hearing things, so he continued, giving a framework for the discussion, laying out his time in Afghanistan and his time with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Again, sniggers and some signs from a couple audience members back to Sherlock Holmes. John paused for a moment, looking at Greg. Greg shook his head, mouthed _Not good, mate._

Sherlock was either interpreting his words incorrectly to the Deaf members of the audience or he was bold enough to talk about him. Sherlock was the only one turned enough for him to see. He couldn't see Molly's face. He decided to beat them at their own game. He could be petty and vindictive, too. 

John paused. Unfazed, Sherlock continued signing, the Deaf audience members giggling. John turned, cocked his hip out, putting his elbow on the podium, resting his cheek on his fist. A pose of boredom. Of waiting for Sherlock to finish. The minutes ticked by. The audience grew restless and turned, looking at the sign language interpreter have what appeared to be an off topic conversation while the speaker wasn't even giving his talk. Eventually, Sherlock caught on. Molly had poked him. Everyone looked between Sherlock and John. Sherlock looked pale. 

"Are we ready?" John asked, staring directly at Sherlock, "Or am I interrupting your private conversations over there?" John waited. The audience gasped. Everyone turned to look over at Sherlock. Indignant, he waved in a forward sweeping motion for John to carry on. John spoke directly into the microphone, "Apparently, my story is boring to part of the audience. If I cause you to fall asleep you're welcome to find something else to do that is more exciting."

John gave a dazzling smile. That same smile that had made him the rumoured _Three Continents Watson._  He proceeded to talk about his history, making a point to turn away from the interpreters. It was apparent Sherlock had decided to give his own presentation on what John said, so there was no reason for John to stay turned for him to lip read. 

John continued, explaining the difficulty of holding on to reality after a life-threatening injury took away his career. He went on to demonstrate how PTSD needed to be treated as a manageable disease to break the cycle of depression and listlessness that follows the loss of work and identity after a tour is over. John shared his current pattern of being afraid of commitment, of wandering through his life without a plan and of barely being able to form proper attachments. He explained how these failures are also on the spectrum of PTSD and present when a wounded veteran comes home.  He kept his voice even, pleasantly surprising himself as he recounted the worse days after being shot in the shoulder. John described the months of physio and the ongoing therapy to stay the nightmares of his dying soldiers. As he finished, he felt lighter, having exposed some of his darkest secrets to a large room full of strangers, save Greg Lestrade. 

He clicked off the PowerPoint, listening to the applause and seeing in the audience a few members raising their hands and shaking them back and forth. John caught Sherlock and Molly making the same sign, and he surmised it must mean _applause._ John caught Greg's eye, who shrugged and smiled, gesturing him to come sit beside him. 

John sat down, purposely avoiding Sherlock's gaze. He hoped the man was embarrassed and furious. John knew that yesterday he'd spoken out of turn, but it had been an honest mistake from simple curiosity. After his presentation, he paid attention to the speakers, making notes and making a firm resolution to pay attention and do better. 

As it wrapped up, he stood up and Greg hugged him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him close, "I'm proud of you, Dr. Watson. It was important to tell that story." 

John grinned back, eyes bright, "It's important for me to change based on my story. To get better. Not be stuck in the past and wallowing in what my life could've been."

Greg clapped his shoulder and left him to go to the interpreters and talk with Molly. John waved goodbye and went another direction. He knew part of his boredom was his work. He was going to change that immediately. 


	2. Sign for Reunion/Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ sign for meeting (reunion) in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/Meeting)

Three months into his career change, John still felt out of his depth at St. Bart's. He was thrilled to make the move from a simple A&E Doctor to a Forensic Pathologist. He'd accelerated the training, but it still took four years. During that time he'd pulled a favor from Mike Stamford, an old college buddy, to get him a residence in the morgue. Being the assistant to the Lead Forensic Pathologist was humbling, but John decided this was part of his retraining on "How to stop being a massive wanker and participate in society again." 

Duran Montgomery had just brought in a deceased who was found murdered under a bridge near Reagent's Park. He was unidentified. A cord was wrapped around his neck, his face blue and skin mottling from exposure. John would need to run experiments to determine the time of death and exact cause. 

As he was prepping for autopsy, he received a phone call. It was DI Dimmock, young and ready to prove himself to the rest of his officers. John knew he must have acted like that once, but it was a long time ago. 

"Dr. Watson," he started, wanting to sound professional and knowledgeable to anyone that might be listening, "We have found this man and his next of kin. We have a problem however," and the man paused for dramatic effect, "his wife is Deaf and she is understandably distraught. We can't get her to calm down and write down her questions, and she won't be calm enough to write down hers. We are at an impasse until we can get an interpreter."

John was taken aback. He remembered nearly five years ago when he'd decided to change, after he'd had the completely awkward and embarrassing encounter with that BSL interpreter. He tried to recount the man's name, but at first all that came to mind was dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and legs that went for miles. John blurted out, "Sherlock."

There was a pause on the line, then DI Dimmock continued, "What exactly is a Sherlock?"

John continued, "I knew some interpreters from a few years back. Let me see if I can locate one of them. If I do, can I send them to the house?"

The DI gave the information and John got off the phone and pulled up his contacts. It had been a few months since he'd seen Greg, but he was hopeful he still was in touch with Molly. She might be able to reach Sherlock.  
  
  
   
  
_**It's John. Need a sign language interpreter. Does Molly still talk to that Sherlock guy?  
 **_

****

**_Molly is a sign language interpreter. Why don't you just ask her?_ **

  


John tried to come up with a good reason why he didn't think of Molly. He had none. He gave an honest explanation.   
  
   


_**Sherlock was the first person that popped in my mind, sorry. Need him to interpret a tough deal at work. Wife of a murder victim.** _

__

__

**_You probably do want Molly. Sherlock isn't the most tactful. I don't think a week goes by without him insulting me._**

  
 

John was shocked. He hadn't thought of Sherlock often, but he had crossed his mind every once in a while. He wondered what he was up to, if he was still around London. It turned out Sherlock was closer than he realized, apparently hanging out with his mate Greg. They'd probably almost met several times.   
  
   
**_You see him? Weekly?_**  
  

**_John, I invited you out with Molls and me multiple times. Sometimes, with the intent of getting you and SH together. You always declined._**

  
**_I was in school. Changing careers._**

 

_****_

_****_

**_That's understandable. But you hardly talk to me and suddenly you need me to drop everything to help you find this guy that you met five years ago?_**

_**It wasn't that long ago. Four years and a few months.**_

_****__** ** _

**_You remember how long ago it was? You've got it bad. So bad._**

_**Fine. Maybe I think of him sometimes. And I'm sorry I don't hang out. I'll make it up to you, since I apparently broke your heart. I'm sorry.** _

_****__** ** _

**_Was that so hard?_**

**_  
_ **

**_No.... But can you help me or not?_**

**_Sure. He's right here playing Cluedo. Swears up and down the victim killed themselves. I think he's about to pitch the game over._**  

**_  
_ **

**_You absolute cock. You twat. I can't believe it._**  


**_Talk nice to me, promise to come over this week for a beer, and I'll give him your number. If not, he's getting the customer service to a sex phone line._**

**_Greg, he's Deaf. He's not going to call the number, he's just going to text it. So even if you did that, the joke would be lost on him.  
_ **

**_Fine then. I'll tell him where to meet you._**

**_Oh you fucking wanker._**  

**_You deserve it._**

John waited a few moments, unsure if he was going to hear from Sherlock directly or if he would just direct him to a location. His phone pinged.   
   


**_Where do I need to meet you? SH_**

  
**_I'll text you the address. The detective inspector is there already._**  
  


John didn't know why his heart was pounding, or why he was excited.

  


This was a man who had seemed to hate him from the start. 

  


Something in the back of his mind hoped a new meeting, a start over, would be better. 


	3. Sign for Fast Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ sign for fast in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/fast)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ sign for car in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/car) 
> 
> [ Hello and Greetings in BSL ](http://youtu.be/tcWA-koR1gs) 

In the cab on the way to the wife's home, John realized how ridiculous it was that he was traveling to the crime scene. He was the Forensic Pathologist and his job was to determine the cause of death and to work with the Medical Examiner. His job was not to run to interrogate a suspect. Or watch Sherlock H.  interpret while DI Dimmock questioned the next of kin of the murder victim. 

His heart pounded as he rounded to corner to the wife's home. What was he going to do? What would he say? He realized he was an idiot. He could've spent some time learning some BSL, but he hadn't. He downloaded an app on his phone and practiced just a couple basics. _Hello:_ his palm flat and forward, waved back and forth. _How are you:_ both thumbs up, pushed inward against his chest, and then swooped up and out. 

As he pulled up, he saw Sherlock getting out of a red 1970s Mercedes Benz. He came out looking like a fashion model. Gray button shirt, black pants, pea coat. The top of his gray button down was undone, exposing part of his throat. He looked around, scanning the home and the neighborhood surrounding it. As John exited the cab, he stared at him a moment, his mouth drying. 

The first thought that ran through John Watson's mind was _'That is the most beautiful person I've ever seen.'_

His second thought was _'I want to see those clothes wrinkled on my bedroom floor.'_  

"Sweet Jesus pull yourself together," John said, out loud. Sherlock turned around at that moment and saw him, and John wondered if Sherlock had heard him. Realizing that was ridiculous, he paid the cabbie and began walking towards Sherlock, thinking how frumpy he must look in his work scrubs compared to Sherlock's GQ look. 

John, nervous and shaking, used the signs he practiced: _Hello, How are you?_ Sherlock smiled back, a beautiful smile, and began signing back at a breakneck pace. John shook his head and held up his hands. Sherlock, still with a smile, held up a universal 'ok' sign and pulled out his phone with a notepad. John pulled out his BSL app, determined to make notes on what Sherlock was saying. Sherlock took the phone out of John's hands and found the sign for _Thank you,_ passing the video back over so John could watch it. John grinned back at Sherlock, finding the video for _You're Welcome_ and played it back. Sherlock kept smiling, and John was determined to continue learning as many signs as he could if Sherlock would keep smiling at him like that. 

Sherlock tilted his head and pointed to the house. John nodded, allowing Sherlock to fall behind him. He could hear crying and some off key screaming from inside the house. He paused, turning around and nearly running into Sherlock. He held his finger up in a _wait_ motion, and held up his phone's notepad and typed. 

_**There is screaming and crying inside. It doesn't sound quite right, I hope that's not offensive, but it sounds like the wife is yelling at the DI.** _

Sherlock read it, and then typed up his own response. 

_**No offense taken. Thank you for warning me. Probably upset she can't communicate.** _

John read it, and then took his phone back, continuing into the house. He knocked on the door and DI Dimmock answered. He looked frazzled but overjoyed they were there. Dimmock looked Sherlock up and down. He then turned to John, saying in a whisper, "Is this the interpreter, or a fucking model?"

Dimmock then addressed Sherlock directly, partially blocked by John's head, "So, she's a bit hysterical. Think you can handle it?"

Sherlock must not have read his lips, because he didn't respond. There was too much going on, and Dimmock didn't enunciate very well when he spoke. There was no response to Dimmock's question, and Sherlock didn't seem taken aback by the high pitched wailing, yelling and breaking items coming from somewhere in the house. 

Dimmock turned to John, "Wait, he's Deaf, too? How the fuck is he supposed to interpret while still being Deaf. This isn't going to-"

John was not going to allow anyone to make the same mistake he had in underestimating him. He turned to face both the DI and Sherlock so he could read both their lips, "Yes, he's the interpreter, and a damn good one too. He can read lips, so I suggest you stop saying things you don't want him to hear. Anything that's unclear between anyone, Sherlock and the wife I will help him. He's extremely brilliant, he could read me like a book the first time I met him, so he will probably help you solve the case."

John waited, chest puffing out after seeing the upturn of a bit of a smile in the corner of Sherlock's mouth, and DI Dimmock shrink just a bit. There was an awkward silence that was broken by a wail. 

"So I'm assuming the yelling is where the wife is?"

DI Dimmock clenched his jaw and didn't say a word. He jerked his head to the left and began walking away, expecting John and Sherlock to follow. John looked at Sherlock, gesturing for him to come forward. Sherlock had a small smile on his face, and then he gave the sign he'd just learned _Thank you._ John didn't know how to sign back, so he mouthed back, "No problem." 

They walked into chaos when they found the wife in the kitchen. There were pots and pans on the floor, and she was holding another pot and banging it on the side of the counter. Dimmock's partner was in the corner, frozen in shock, just watching her. Sherlock grabbed John's arm, pivoting them both so they were within their line of sight. Sherlock removed his coat and put it over the couch, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. His shirt was a little loose to give his arms room to move. He wore braces, dark gray, and on his forearms were tattoos. John wanted to study them, to run his hands over him, but it was completely inappropriate. Instead, he busied himself by taking out his phone and making sure he had the notepad and BSL app ready. 

Sherlock started by leaning forward and slapping the counter three times in quick succession. The wife dropped the pot on the floor, her mouth hanging open. She just stared at him, even as he began to sign, she stared with her mouth open. 

 _'Me too, lady, me too.'_ John thought, desperately trying to get his rogue thoughts under control. He was watching him from the back, his eyes traveling down, and it took all his strength to pull himself together and act professional. 

Sherlock turned around to face Dimmock, pointing at him. He then signed back at the wife. After a few more minutes of this back and forth, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and moved him closer to Dimmock. He took John's phone and handed it to Dimmock, mimicking writing with a pen. He raised his eyebrows at John. 

"Dimmock, write down what you want Sherlock to interpret and he will. Go ahead," Dimmock looked at them both, shook his head slightly and began typing. He wrote out a lengthy paragraph, then handed it to John. John held it up for Sherlock so he could read it easily while keeping his hands free to interpret. 

_**We are very sorry about your loss. We need to find out what happened with your husband. Can you tell us what happened? Step by step last night? Was there anyone unusual around the house? Anyone that had any grudges?** _

Sherlock signed, taking his time to make sure she understood.

There was a very long pause before the wife responded. And she responded with just a few signs. Sherlock responded with a few back. Sherlock took John's phone, typed some phrases, then gave it back to Dimmock. John couldn't quite see what was being written, but Dimmock gestured for his police partner to come over. Dimmock texted something back to Sherlock, handing it to John. 

_**If you are sure she's lying, and she could be involved, we will have to bring her in with a court appointed interpreter to review. If you have Level 6 NVQ and Level 3 Lip Reading and advance courses in legal terminology, you can come to the station and interpret. We'd appreciate the help. Please advise her we must take her in for further questioning.** _

John looked at Sherlock, watching him as he took the information and changed it into signs. He was expressive, not only moving his hands and arms but gesturing the words with his mouth. When he finished, she hung her head, moving out from behind the counter, Dimmock's partner coming forward to handcuff her. As he led her out, Dimmock pulled out witness statement, asking Sherlock basic questions about himself for the official report. As Sherlock and Dimmock typed back and forth, John found out his last name was Holmes, he was just a few years younger than John and he had interpreted a few times before in the police department. 

Sherlock grabbed his coat and swung it over his shoulder and walked out. John followed outside, watching as the police loaded the wife into the police car. John picked up a phone to call a cab, but was startled when he felt a hand on his arm. Sherlock held his arm, squeezing it, holding out his phone with a typed message. 

_**John, will you come with me? What you did back there? It was good. What you said to the DI. Thank you. I'd like your help finishing up the interpretation at the police station.** _

John looked at Sherlock, his eyes bright, face smiling. Sherlock hadn't let on at all that he'd been able to understand what Dimmock was saying, but the brilliant man he was, he'd understood everything. John was especially thrilled he stood up for Sherlock as the thank you meant so much. He only wished that Sherlock had typed it into his phone so he could save and re-read later. 

John nodded yes, the murdered body wasn't going anywhere, and followed Sherlock into his 1970s Mercedes Benz. It was a beautiful car, low to the ground, and John felt slightly self conscious getting inside next to someone who looked, dressed and drove like a self-assured super model. Before he started the car, Sherlock typed out one more message.

_**I don't know how to use the radio. But you are welcome to figure it out and listen to whatever you would like.** _

John laughed, and Sherlock chuckled. It was an internal laugh, a shaking of his shoulders and a throaty sound. It made John want to hear his voice more and wonder what he sounded like when he spoke. He turned, watching him as he started the car and pulled out, following the police car. John turned on the radio, listening to BBC just to check on the news. John pulled up his BSL app to find another couple of signs to show Sherlock when given the chance. 

At a stop light, he tapped Sherlock's arm. He'd found the sign for _fast_ jumping his index fingers off of one another, and then the sign for _car,_ a simple imitation of a steering wheel. Sherlock smiled, giving John a sign recognized as he mouthed it at the same time, _thank you,_ a sweep of the hand off the chin, ending with a thumb's up. He gave John a million watt smile. 

John realized he did, as Greg had described, _'have it bad.'_


	4. Sign for Follow

[ sign for Follow in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/follow)

[ sign for date in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/Date)

John fidgeted with his BSL app as they drove on to the station, desperately trying to learn at least a few more signs before he left Sherlock's presence. He searched, but was unable to figure out the difference between the sign for _date_ a certain day on the calendar, and _date_ , a romantic one. Were they both the same sign, a fist pointed toward one's chin, then a knock on your chin as if you were knocking on a door? He figured he wouldn't leave that one to chance. He'd type out asking Sherlock on a date so there would be no question. 

He watched Sherlock smoothly navigate his car into a spot in front of the station. Sherlock winked at him as he smoothly exited the car, giving John a chance to look at his arse as he did so. John looked at his scrubs, comically underdressed compared to the other man, and jogged to catch up to the long-legged interpreter. He started to type out his note asking for his number to take him on a date but got distracted watching him walk, the lean muscles of his thighs and forearms swinging in tandem. He was beautiful, constantly looking around him. He turned, waving at John to catch up.

John walked twice as fast to keep up with the interpreter's long legs. As they walked down the hallway, Sherlock was typing quickly on his cell phone, passing it over to John.

**Please talk for me as we interview the wife. I'll pass you the cell phone and relay notes.**

John quickly typed a response. 

**Wouldnt you rather have Molly since she knows BSL**

Sherlock grinned as he ran his fingers over John's hand to take the phone back. He typed a response, turning the phone so John could read it.

**No need. You're doing fine.**

They turned into the first hallway to an interview room. Sherlock signed to a detective who replied in slower renditions but it was evident he could understand the interpreter. They were led down to another hallway, and again, Sherlock signed to another clerk, leaving John out of the conversation. John realized that this must be how Sherlock went through his life, following and trying to extrapolate the conversation based on gestures and body language. 

When John heard banging and screaming, which was unmistakably the widow, he tapped on Sherlock's shoulder to turn him around. John pulled on his own ear and mouthed _wife is yelling._ Sherlock nodded, and they entered the interview room. 

John watched Sherlock stand in front of the wife and begin signing. Detective Dimmock was already in the room, and waved to Sherlock and John. The Detective stood next to John, relaying via text while Sherlock signed. Though it would've been faster with Molly who could've read the signs and spoken immediately, the interpretation moved quickly. John had to remind himself to pay attention to the text questions and not just watch Sherlock's hands. As they worked, they fell into an easy rhythm, questioning and fielding questions in return. The woman eventually put herself into a corner that she couldn't explain away. She stated she was at home, and then at work, and finally, when the timelines didn't make sense, she broke down and admitted she was the one to kill her husband. Every bit of the the session had to be recorded, and John and Sherlock had to be processed and placed on the docket to return as interpreters and material witnesses for trial. When they left the building, it was nearing eight in the evening. 

John, impulsively, got Sherlock's attention on the curb before he could get into his car. He made a fist, knocking on his chin _date?_ and then what he hoped was the sign for _food_ , fingers pinched together and moving towards his mouth. Sherlock tilted his head and stared at John, forehead crinkled. John reached to get his phone to make his meaning clear, but Sherlock stopped him, pulling out his phone first.

**Yes. Starving. There is Italian down the street.**

John looked up from the phone, grinning, handing it back. Sherlock tucked it back into his pocket, then slapped his hands together, pushing the right one out faster than the left. _It's a date_ Sherlock mouthed as he gestured, ushering John into the car. 


	5. Sign for Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> [ sign for date in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/Date)

John tried to keep his eyes off Sherlock as the man drove, streetlights illuminating and drifting over as they sped down the motorway. John was again surprised by the silence. No GPS, radio blaring, or idle chatter. Just the sounds of the car rolling, the noise from other traffic muffled and distant. 

Sherlock pulled the car directly in front of a modest restaurant only a few minutes from the police station. After parking the car, he notated in his phone and turned it so John could read it. 

**I've spent countless hours here in between interpreting sessions.**

John grinned, following Sherlock into the restaurant. He noticed the people on the street who stopped to admire Sherlock, as he was an unusually handsome man. John walked close behind Sherlock so it was clear to everyone that they were together. 

As they entered, a tall, overweight man stopped washing wine glasses at the bar and ran to Sherlock, shaking his hand warmly. They signed to one another very quickly, the tall, heavyset man easily keeping up with Sherlock. Sherlock moved to take his phone out of his pocket to interpret for John, but the man stopped him, offering to speak. 

"Hello, my name is Angelo." As he spoke, the man signed, allowing Sherlock to more easily follow the conversation. "Sherlock here got me off a murder charge, proving I was off another place robbing a house." At this, Sherlock and Angelo sign back and forth animatedly. Finally, Angelo sighed. He continued speaking, signing at the same time, "Sherlock says he was only interpreting. However, I know for a fact he sees and understands more than the police ever will, so I am positive he pointed the DI in the direction of the evidence they missed to catch the real killer." At this praise, Sherlock blushes, but Angelo continues, speaking and signing together, "Now, let's get the best seat in the house for you and your man, right where the lighting is best with extra candles." John is thrilled at being seen as Sherlock's man, and overjoyed that he didn't correct Angelo's assumption. 

The two men sit, taking Angelo's recommendations of wine and food. Rather than typing on their phones, Sherlock requests more paper napkins, and instead scribbles notes and bits of conversation on them. It feels more intimate. Over pudding, and while easily buzzed over splitting two bottles of red wine, Sherlock takes John's hands and helps him properly form signs. It's when Sherlock teaches him the sign for _kiss_ , both hands and fingers pinched together like a shadow puppet mimic of a kiss, that John knows he's not misread things. Sherlock writes down the word, helps with the sign, then taps his lips. 'Ever the gentleman,' John thinks, leaning in to give Sherlock a lovely and quick peck upon the lips. As he pulls away, John surprises himself with a sign, like muscle memory from what he practiced in the car earlier. He uses both hands to form the top of a triangle. "Home," he mouths, but to make it clear, he writes on a fresh napkin, _may I take you home?_

Sherlock grins, writing below it, _Yes, but mine is closer._

As they get up to leave, John watches Sherlock carefully folding up their conversations and putting them in his pocket. John attempts to pay, but Angelo rushes them out. Angelo signs some things to Sherlock, in which Sherlock turns red and uses a sign that John instantly recognizes to tell Angelo to _fuck off._ John doesn't stop laughing until they pull up to Sherlock's door.


	6. Sign for Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ sign for beautiful in BSL ](http://www.signbsl.com/sign/beautiful)
> 
> [ Fingerspelling in BSL ](http://youtu.be/DgIvXXdwjvw)

John kept his hands to himself as they drove to Sherlock's home. He was nervous and excited as they drove the few blocks to his small home. Sherlock parked the car, winking at John as he bounded to the front door, unlocking it quickly. John followed behind, allowing himself to be propelled and pulled up the stairs to a living room filled with books. Sherlock clicked the door shut and kissed John as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving John breathless. John's head was spinning as he was kissed across his neck, his throat, all while Sherlock stripped himself of his clothes. Unable to speak to one another besides gestures and phone notes, John understood as Sherlock began pulling John's clothing off of him. John looked around, searching for the bedroom. Sherlock tilted his head, then pulled John to a room on the left. 

Sherlock sat him on the bed and then went over to a dresser near a window. The room was large and bright, John estimated it to be nearly the size of the living room they'd briefly walked through. John could clearly see him as he finished stripping, his back to him, as he unashamedly dug through a drawer. John watched even more gorgeous tattoos come into view. A beautifully muscled back that tapered into a slim waist and gorgeous arse and legs. John wishes he could yell across the room and tell him, but instead, he finished taking his clothes off himself and looked up _beautiful_ in BSL. 

Before John could finish searching and practice the word, Sherlock bounded on the bed with a condom and lube. He pointed to the condom and gave a gesture similar as slipping to condom on his first two fingers. He then pointed at the lube and finger spelled each letter. He grabbed John's phone and typed out a note. 

**Condoms and lube. Two very important words to know when talking with me. I'll quiz you later.**

John couldn't help smiling thinking of the future, of a possibility of being in Sherlock's world for the long term. He took the phone from Sherlock and put it on the bedside table, crawling up on his lap. He circled his legs around his back, Sherlock falling back onto the bed. He kissed the man, grinning, using tongue and teeth and moaning into his mouth. Sherlock was silent, except for wet sounds of saliva and puffs of air as he felt their desire grow. John pulled back, taking the lubricant, showing Sherlock as he moved his fingers to his own entrance to stretch. He didn't know how Sherlock wanted to have sex but he felt the tip of his cock pushing the cleft of his arse and he wanted him inside him. Sherlock moaned as he watched John curl back, impaled on his own fingers, their cocks lined up and bumping into one another. Sherlock tapped John's face and Sherlock made a sign, his entire right hand pinched in against his chin and then pulled out a way from his face like an opening flower. John shook his head, unsure, and Sherlock mouthed _beautiful_ in an exaggerated way. John grinned, pulling his fingers out of himself, dipping down to lay his entire body over Sherlock's to kiss him deeply.

John took the condom in Sherlock's hand and unwrapped it, watching his face as he rolled it on the beautiful man. Sherlock nodded for John to proceed. John sheathed him, made sure there was extra lubricant on him, and then sank onto him, running his hands up and down Sherlock's chest as he did so. Sherlock didn't moan or speak, but puffed out air and bit his lip, placing his hands on either side of John's hip, teasing his lower belly. John rose up and down on his knees, Sherlock stretching and filling him. John attempted to copy the _beautiful_ sign back to Sherlock, and Sherlock smiled, shaking with perspiration and want. John continued riding him, finally pulling on his own cock as he felt his orgasm growing closer. He felt frustrated, wanting to tell Sherlock how close he was, how he wishes he could slow it down and drag it out, how lucky he feels to have met such an amazing force of natire. He doesn't have the vocabulary yet, so he simply looks in his eyes, squeezing his muscles, ripping his back, running his fingers up and down the beautiful man's chest. John feels his orgasm building as Sherlock climaxes inside of him, his eyes wide and fingertips digging into his hips. John pulls on his cock, covering Sherlock's chest tattoos with creamy white streaks. 

John breathed for a moment, dizzy and sleepy all at once. Sherlock lightly slaps John's arse cheek, John takes the hint and rolls off of him, laying on his back on the King sized bed. Sherlock ties off the condom and bins in, and with a look of mischief, drags his finger through the ejaculate cooling on his chest, bringing it to his tongue for a taste. John moans, covering his face with his eyes, moaning 'oh my god' as he hears Sherlock walk away to what he assumes is the bathroom. He returns, warm flannel, washing himself and John off quickly, then begins to pick up his clothes and put them in a hamper. He grins, and makes a gesture like he is explaining what an elephant's trunk looks like in a game of charades. John shakes his head. Sherlock grins, still unembarrassed and naked, grabbing his phone to type out a message. 

**Penis.**

Sherlock makes the exaggerated, crude gesture again. John starts laughing and takes the phone back. 

**How do you talk about anything naughty in public? Everyone has got to know what you're saying.**

Sherlock pulls on a pair of shorts, sits on the bed, and takes the phone back, sitting close enough for their knees to touch. John holds up a finger for Sherlock to wait, and he puts on his pants, unsure if Sherlock is going to begin to dress and start to hint that it's time for him to go home. Instead, Sherlock gives a bright smile and types another phrase. 

**When you become good friends with someone, or boyfriends, you develop code. You almost make your own language between the two of you.**

John couldn't help but grin at the other man, pushing his curls behind his ear. They looked at one another for a moment, then John typed out a phrase. He had to erase it and start over twice. 

**Maybe our code word could be 'murder' since that's how we met. It's morbid, but no one would suspect we were talking about sex or penises.**

Sherlock took the phone and laughed, a silent laugh where his shoulders rose up and down and his eyes crinkled. He put the phone down and put his fist in the air, punching forward with an imaginary knife. He mouthed the word 'murder' as he did so. John laughed, taking the phone back. 

**Unsure if that's any better, actually.**

John looked up into Sherlock's face, unsure of the expression he saw. He felt wrong-footed, communicating in fits and starts, and he desperately wished he could quickly talk to him like Molly. He wondered if Sherlock would grow bored or frustrated with teaching him, or if this was the last time he would see him. 

John turned his phone over, fussing with the corner of the sheets, unsure if he should get up and get his clothes, if he was only here for a night of fun, and now the evening was over. If he should leave since the itch was scratched. Sherlock pulls John close, searching his face, John's eyes following his. Sherlock signs, hooking his pointer fingers down. John shakes his head, not sure what Sherlock is communicating. In his accented, beautiful, deep voice, Sherlock says _Stay._ He pulls at John, gesturing at him to lay down so they are facing one another. He hooks his legs around John's, pulling him close, tucking his chin over his shoulder. They sleep, wrapper around one another, John bestowing one last kiss to Sherlock's lips before closing his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Author personal note: I am having surgery on 8/23 and will have a few days of bed rest. I am hopeful it goes well. However, I just felt like I should post something, just in case. Thank you for reading, not only this, but everything.


End file.
